The Boys, the Math, and the Guns
by Gandalf3213
Summary: An old friend calls Alan. A day later, the FBI is looking for two missing teens. A week later, Charlie and Don stumble onto the kidnappers hideout, which begins a struggle for all their lives. Hardy Boys crossover.
1. Story

**I don't own Num3rs. Just so's you know**

"You sure they're not there?"

Charlie looked over at his dad as he dropped his bag next to the front door. For a second, he thought that his father was talking to him, then he realized there was a phone smashed between his neck and his shoulder while he scribbled something down.

"How long have they been missing? A week! You know who might have taken them?"

Charlie was surprised at this conversation. Taken who? His dad's face was tense, listening to whoever was on the other end talk.

"They're solving cases! How old _are _these kids?"

A pause, long enough for Charlie to realize he shouldn't be eavesdropping, at least not in an obvious way. He went into the kitchen, started slicing up an apple, still listening hard.

"Why do you think they'd be coming to LA?...Really? Why don't you stay at my place, lots of room over here, and my boys will be able to help out...Sure, I'll meet you at the airport, just hang on a second..."

When directions started to be given out, Charlie knew that the conversation would be wrapping up soon. He ducked his head, trying his best to look inconspicuous. When Alan came into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and withdrew a beer, he decided to ask. "Who was on the phone, dad?"

Alan sliced up a roll, put some meat on it, and sat down at the table before answering. "A friend of mine from back east. His kids are missing."

Charlie, although he had heard this, pretended he hadn't, "That's terrible! How old are they?"

Alan opened his beer, drinking it periodically while eating the sandwich. "Seventeen and eighteen; boys fancy themselves detectives. Same as their father."

Charlie still felt as though he were in the dark. He ate a piece of the apple, "Who's their father?"

Charlie's dad waited a couple seconds, staring at a spot on the table. "Fenton Hardy. You met him once, even though you probably don't remember. Just before you started Princeton. He used to be on the New York Police Force. Good man. Good kids, too. Frank and Joe, if memory serves."

"What happened to...Frank and Joe?" Charlie was intrigued by all this, even if it was a terrible thing. He had a kind of morbid fascination with crime.

"Got kidnapped, apparently, by a friend of some guy they put behind bars. Turns out the guy was heading over here, to LA, and Fenton wants to know if the FBI will help him find his kids." Alan sighed. "What a shame. Been gone for a week already."

Charlie knew that he thought that boys wouldn't be alive. Statistics proved that the longer a victim (or victims) were with a kidnapper, the less chance they have of surviving. "Any ransom demands?"

"None. Fenton's supposed to be catching a flight here tomorrow, so he'll be here until the case pans out...one way or another."

Charlie nodded, seeing some connections already, math already writing some possibilities. He needed some more information, and some help.

That meant Don.

**Yeah, that's all for now, folks. Review?**


	2. Plans

**I own the Hardy Boys (so not)**

Charlie marvelled at how easy it was to convince Don to take the case of the missing teens. There had been so few cases in the past week; in the whole month there had been only ten (statisticaly, Febuary was the month with the least amount of crime but still...) Maybe solving crime was to Don as math was to Charlie. He just couldn't live without it.

Charlie took a seat next to Fenton Hardy at the table in the FBI office, planning on studying his movements. With some basic math, he could figure ou almost anything if he looked hard enough. Megan sat on the other side of Hardy, with Colby and David at the other end of the table. Don was standing.

"So let's get the basics done with first," Don's voice was crisp, but Charlie could tell that Don was eager. He needed a case. "How old are the boys? Have there been any demands?" before he could get any further, Fenton Hardy cut him off.

"I know what your getting at. I used to be on the police force, you know. Frank and Joe are my sons. Frank is eighteen, Joe is seventeen. There have been no ransom deamnds as of this morning, and my wife and sister at home, in case someone does call. Frankly--" here he looked serious, his eyebrows meeting in the middle. "I don't expect anyone to call. I already have a pretty decent idea of who took my boys."

Charlie sat up striaghter, glancing at Don to see that he too was surprised by this statement. "Who took them, Mr. Hardy?" Megan asked.

Hardy got up and paced, then stopped and looked at the group, "Frank and Joe are detectives, and fairly good ones at that. Sometimes I have a case that needs undercover work that can't be done as an adult. My boys jump at the chance, and as long as they stick together, I usually don't mind." Charlie opened his mouth to say something, but a sharp glance from Don said, "Stay quiet, stupid."

"This gang was apparently more violent then I first expected. When Frank and Joe didn't come home or call, I suspected something was up and went to the carnivile that they were investigating. It was gone the entire thing." he was quiet, stared at the floor for a few seconds, then shook himself and straightened up. "I'm telling you this so that you know that Frank and Joe are inelligent. They know how to get ou of a jam. Usually, they'll be out of it by now, which is why I brought in the authorities later then expected."

Colby was the first to speak, "Why do yout think they're in LA? Especially coming from the East Coast."

"We've been tracking this gang for a while. They're a shoot-off of a larger body that is headquartered here going by the name of 'the Clowns'." he was met by silence, "I didn't get the name either," he stated, misinterpretting it.

Don crossed over to a screen, "You came at the right time. We've been monerterring the Clowns for weeks, relating them to crimes all over the city. We haven't had any proof before now." he clicked the screen on, showing an old apartment building that ws all but falling apart. "Their headquarters are being cased right now."

Fenton's face cleared to the point where he was almost smiling. "That is good news. Now, how can I help?"

Questions came from all over the room, specutations followed, and a plan was soon formed. Charlie realized that this case would be solved very soon, if everything went according to plan.

The problem is that things very rarely go according to plan.

**Review?**


	3. Action

**I own nothing**

Don took his brother aside after the briefing was let out. "Listen, Charlie, I don't know how much you can help on this case ―" he was interrupted before he got any further.

"Its fine, Don. I'll analyze the movements of the Clowns and see what the next logical step is." He examined Don't face. "But you weren't talking about that, were you?" Charlie smiled. "You are way over-protective, you know?"

Don shrugged, "Well, the Clowns, their big, you know? They've already killed at least seven innocent people. More then that, probably." He noticed his brother's skeptical look, "I just don't want to see you get hurt."

Charlie was already walking away, "Have I ever been hurt, Don?" he called over his shoulder. He wasn't worried about getting hurt.He was just going to go over all the data they had on the Clowns, plugging in the boys ages and abilities and...

Don watched him go, "No, not yet." he said to himself. But he had a funny feeling about this case. He didn't know why this case was different from the others he had worked on with Charlie. Was it because the people missing were kids? Because they were brothers? Was he uneasy because of the Clowns? _That must be it_ he thought, _the clowns killed seven people, that's why I want Charlie off the case_.

But he still wasn't sure.

Colby came rushing past Don, making him grab onto the man's arm. "One of our guys says that they're moving out." he said, his eyes wild and animated. Colby led the way tot he car, David joining them as they got in and Megan coming up just as they were driving out. Don had only one thing on his mind, _I've gotta stop these jerks._

The team got to the warehouse just as the last of the gang was getting into a truck. David and Colby were out of the car before it even stopped. "Freeze!" Colby yelled, his command doing nothing but make the men work faster.

Don went around to the other side, trying to catch a glimpse of the boys they were after. He saw a larger group come out of the warehouse that seemed to be fighting with itself. Before DOn could get to it, however, a large, burly man stood in his way and started swinging.

Even when he was in combat Don tried to listen for signs of the boys. He thought he heard a scream for help that got cut short, as if someone had thrown a gag into the mouth of whoever was saying it. Which, Don realized, was very likely.

The scream distracted Don just long enough for the guy to get one last good punch in, making sure that Don couldn't follow him as he raced over to the truck and hopped in the back.

The team regrouped. Don noticed that Colby and David both had scratches on their faces and David's coat was ripped. Don assumed they had done exactly what Don did. Megan started talking as soon as everybody was in hearing range. "I noticed that one of the boys ―Frank? The darker one. He punched the tail light of the truck out before one of the gang knocked him out." she smiled a little as she said it.

Don nodded, "that's good thinking. The car will be easier to track." he looked down the dirt road, the one the truck had gone down. They were long gone by now.

* * *

Don dropped by to see Charlie later that night and wound up staying for dinner. 

"Your sons are very creative." Don commented in the middle of dinner. "We saw one of them when he punched out the tail light of a truck they were taken away in." he noticed that Fneton Hardy's face twisted into a smile when he said that.

"Probably Frank. Joe thinks too much with his emotions to do something like that. He was probably fighting." he was quiet for a second, thinking of his reckless sons. "I'm glad that you have a lead." he said, "Thank you so much for helping me."

Charlie spoke up, "We have more then a lead, I know where they're going. Using a ―" he caught sight of Don's face, which suggested that nobody really wanted to hear about all the math involved. "Using different techniques, I found that the Clowns are moving to a location near the ocean, probably this chain of storage houses on Jefferson Boulavard."

Fenton Hardy's face cleared. "This is good news. We know where they're going. We know that at least one of my sons is alive. And ―" he looked around the table, "We know that we won't give up until they're found."

**You like?**


	4. Finding

**i own it not**

"Why are we going out on a Saturday again?" Don's question hung in the air for a few seconds, waiting to be answered.

"Umm..." Charlie was still thinking about something else ― math, more likely then not, and was now on what David good-naturedly called "answering machine mode" meaning that he recorded everything anyone said and played in back later.

"Umm...yeah. We've had a bad week." Don snorted out a "no duh" kind of sound. They hadn't gotten any closer to finding the Hardy boys. The leads that they'd thought they'd had had been wrong. Whenever they'd thought they were close to the Clowns, they got thrown threw a loop and ended up on another cold trail.

"So, I went back to the beginning. You know that warehouse thing? Turns out there was a pattern called the ―" another look from Don made him stop. "The pattern basically said that these guys would choose abandoned buildings on seeming random streets. Now according to my math, there are two places where they could be." He threw a map at his brother.

Don fumbled with it, finally managed to get it open, and looked at the circled spots. "These houses are being condemned. They're due to be torn down next week." He glanced at Charlie, "that's a gamble."

Charlie nodded, pulling over on a side street. Every house on this street had warning signs on the front door, stating that it was state property and would be torn down. "This place is just asking for a mob to take it over," Charlie observed sullenly.

They pulled over a couple of houses away from number fourteen, the house that Charlie had circled.

"We should call for backup," Don started to take out his cell phone. Charlie put his hand over the phone. "C'mon Don, we're only seeing if they're there, we don't need a whole team. Aren't you tired of being the Boy Who Called Wolf?" this time included, it would be the eighth time that Don called backup in a week.

Don shook his head, "can't risk it, dude. I'll call the operator, tell him to call the Bureau if he doesn't hear back in an hour, 'kay?"

Charlie nodded his head eagerly. "Let's go!" he said eagerly, going up to the house. Don rolled his eyes, his hands going towards the gun on his belt.

Charlie's enthusiasm left him after a sweep showed no signs of forced entry. "This isn't the house, Charlie," Don called, "it must be the other one."

Charlie shrugged, "okay." Before the word was even really out of his mouth, though, the ground beneath him gave way. Don, trying to catch him, got dragged down as well. They fell the ten feet into the basement.

**Likey?**


	5. Explanations

**I own nothing**

Charlie stood up shakily, looking around the dusty basement they had fallen into. He heard a groan behind him and, turning, realized that Don had followed him down. Charlie held out a hand and hauled him older brother to his feet.

As their eyes adjusted to the light, Don and Charlie realized that they weren't alone in the basement. In a corner, a figure was standing in a semi-upright position, seemingly guarding another person.

Don took the lead holding his hands out. _Could it really be the Hardy boys?_ He asked himself. As he neared, he realized that the figures were teenagers, both badly injured. Presumably, the Hardys. "I'm Don Eppes," Don said slowly and softly, trying not to startle the boy. "I'm with the FBI. Don't worry, we'll get you out of here."

He tried to come in closer, but the boy tensed, giving Don the feeling that he would attack. "Are you Frank or Joe?" Don asked quietly. The boy seemed surprised that Con knew his name.

"Frank," the boy replied, letting his body relax a little. He seemed suddenly aware of Charlie's presence and tensed again, "who's he?"

Don was still talking in a quiet, soothing voice, "Charlie Eppes, my brother."

The boy relaxed once again. He looked down at the still-unmoving form worriedly. "My brother, Joe. They ―" he paused, "He's been out for a couple of hours now." He bent down and gently jostled the boy's shoulder, causing him to moan softly.

"Hey Joe," Frank whispered, "c'mon Buddy. There's some FBI guys here. We're getting out." Joe moaned again, but his eyes fluttered.

Don subconsciously realized how alike he and Charlie and the Hardy brothers were.

Frank was still trying to rouse his younger brother. "Time to go, Joe." He said, tugging at a bruised arm. Joe nodded and sat up. "That's it, Old Buddy," Frank crooned, trying to pull him to his feet. "We're getting away from these stupid Clowns. I bet mom and dad are worried about us. And Iola will be there as soon as we get home." The words brought the boy out of his dream-like state and up on his feet. He leaned against Frank, wobbling slightly whenever weight was put on his right leg.

Joe eyes the Eppes' warily. "Who're they?" he asked his brother, staring at Don and Charlie.

"I already told you. Some FBI guys." He tousled his brother's blond hair, "Bad memory, bro." Don sensed concern in his voice, and knew that he and Frank were both thinking concussion. _God, there guys are just like us_.

"We need to leave." Don turned around. "I don't know if the gang's still here or not." He looked at the collapsed section of wall, ten at Charlie, who shook his head.

"The probability of getting the boys up and out of that steep incline in their present state is approximately 234 to 1." Charlie's statement made Don groan.

A "woah" from behind the Eppes' made them turn around. "How'd you do that? Are you, like, a calculator? Or C-3PO?" Joe's excitement was only matched by the wariness of his brother.

"I thought you guys were FBI," Frank said. "How can you do that?"

Charlie stepped forward, palms out like Don. "I'm a math professor at Cal-Sci University." Recognition showed in the eyes of the teens. "I'm a consultant for the FBI."

"Not that this all isn't touching," a low, cold voice from the top of the stairs said, "But I think it's about time we broke up this little party."

**Yeah, bad guy entrance. Review for more.**


	6. Guns

**I own nothing**

Don immediately stepped in front of the older boy, something he had done with Charlie many times. He heard, rather then saw, Charlie getting into a similar position in front of Joe.

Six men came down the stairs, each of them taller or broader then any of the people, who were now prisoners, at the bottom. Except for one. A small, dark-haired man towards the front of the group couldn't have been over five feet tall, yet he was undoubtedly the leader. He looked at Don with nothing but contempt showing in his face.

"Who are you?" Don was thinking about asking the same question. The man waved his hand, "Doesn't matter." He nodded to one of the taller men. He started towards Don, tried to grab him.

Instincts built from years with the FBI kicked in as the man rushed towards him. In one smooth move, Don whipped out his gun, turned so that the man stumbled at thin air, and pointed the gun at the leader.

They stared at each other for a moment before the other man let out a harsh laugh. The man who had tried to grab Don picked up Joe, heaving him to his feet roughly enough do that a cry escaped his lips. The man positioned Joe so that, with the right order, he could snap his neck. Don was aware of an intake of breath from Frank, but he never took the gun off the leader.

Choices came at you from nowhere. He could either kill this man, probably killing, if he was fast enough, the rest of the men, and escape the pain (and possibly death) of himself, Charlie, and Frank, but Joe would be killed. Or he could put the gun down, saving Joe for the time being, but condemning himself and the others to a possible death.

Don stared at the leader for one more second, his finger on the trigger. He looked at Joe, putting the gun down.

The leader laughed again, sounding much like a dog. "Didn't think you had it in you." He nodded one more time, and the group of men behind him split in half, some of them going towards Charlie and Joe, the others starting towards Don and Frank.

Don stepped back towards the boy, whispering as quickly and quietly as he could, "Help's on the way. We need to hold them off for about an hour. Can you fight?"

The dark-haired boy nodded, his face set. Don looked him over, aware of the men coming closer. Normally, he knew that this boy would probably be a great street fighter. With his injuries...Don didn't know.

But a man took the first swing, and the time for thinking was over.

He let out one prayer for Charlie and Joe, who would be in much more danger.

**Sorry it's so short. Review anyway.**


	7. Fights

**I own it. So not.**

Before working for the FBI, Charlie had never been in a fight before. Not one where anyone was really getting hurt anyway. Sure, while he was in High School bullies would pick on him, but that wasn't _real._ Now Charlie realized how sheltered his life had been.

Two men who looked like they wanted to see him dead stood in front of him. They were smiling. Charlie looked over at the boy they had come to rescue. Joe groaned, sagging against the wall. Charlie could see that he was in no position for a fight.

The men advanced slowly, taking pleasure in Charlie's obvious fear. Usually, this was where Don would step in, bang a couple heads together, and the guys would run away.

This time, there was no Don.

Knowing that he would never be able to actually fight these men (they were each about fifty pounds heavier then he and Joe put together) Charlie decided to use the evasion technique. Basically, he would try to duck the punches.

The thing that surprised Charlie most was the fact that it worked. He could evade most of the punches by either ducking or dancing out of the way. Occasionally, a punch would land on his side or his face and he would reel backward before remembering, _don't stop. You stop, you die. Keep moving, you're faster then these guys._

Charlie was proud of Joe, a boy he had known for barely five minutes. He looked as if he wanted nothing more then to stay against the wall, trying to breathe, but instead, he managed to adept to the same tactics Charlie was using and ducked the swings that came at him from all angles.

A scream from the other side of the room made Charlie stop for a second, which gained him another punch to the ribs. Don had leapt at the guy who was the leader after Frank had fallen to the ground. The teenager was curled up into a ball, trying to protect himself from the boots of the men that were coming down hard on his back.

His lapse in concentration allowed one man to break through his (pitiful) defenses and pinion his arms to his sides. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Joe get hit hard in the face, knocking him out.

And things had been going so well.

Charlie struggled, of course. He tried to get out of his captor's grip, but the man was _so much_ bigger then him. All Charlie could do was cringe as he watched blow after blow land on Frank, who had long ago passed out.

Don went down, springing back up immediately. His training and natural self-defense instincts were kicking in. He would beat this guy just like he'd beaten those teens.

Except that now the guy had his gun. Who'd that happen? And he was pointing it at Charlie. Don slowly turned around, saw his brother mouth an _I'm sorry_.

Don nodded his head, feeling tired. He had been beaten. He had been stupid. He had let the bad guy win.

**So..yeah. Review?**


	8. Wounds

**I don't own it. Really.**

The leader was pacing again. After taking a quick look at the men to make sure they wouldn't jump him, Don went to the dark teen beside him who was on the ground, breathing heavily.

"Hey," Don whispered, trying not to draw attention to him. He put a hand on Frank's shoulder. He was breathing fast and heavy. His shirt was ripped, revealing boot marks all over his back. One of his wounds was spilling blood over the cold concrete floor. "Deep breaths."

The breathing changed until it was in check, though Don was afraid that the boy might pass out. "How's Joe?" he asked, his voice strained.

Don looked over at his own brother, who was kneeling next to a prone figure. Charlie had a nose that was streaming blood, but the boy he was leaning over wasn't moving. "Dunno. He tried some heroics while Charlie was in a jam." He smiled, thinking of his younger brother. "Stupid kid." This thought was echoed by Frank at almost the exact same moment.

Don looked down and smiled lopsidedly. "Hard being the oldest?"

Frank tried to flip over, but Don held him down. He let a hiss of pain escape his lips. "You bet."

Don nodded knowingly. He wished he could go to Charlie ― make sure he was alright and all that. Instead, he started ripping his own shirt, knowing that if Frank's wound wasn't covered, he'd pass out from loss of blood.

And their side would lose a good fighter.

After checking again to make sure that the "guards" weren't taking notice of him, Don started wrapping the makeshift bandage around Frank's stomach, passing over small scars and half-healed bruises. "Not the first time you've been hurt, huh?"

A small, forced smile from the boy. "Not even close."

Don went a couple more times around, though he could see the blood already leaking through. "I'm going to have to pull this tighter." With a swift jerk, the bandage became taut. He heard Frank bite back a scream.

"Don't worry," Don tried to comfort. "We called for backup before we came in. They should be here soon." An hour wasn't soon enough, though. Frank's eyes were glazed over, and Don could see that he was barely holding on to consciousness. He was going to pass out soon.

* * *

Charlie was trying to wake Joe. He had deduced that a blow to the back of the head, which was now bleeding freely, was what rendered him unconscious. By pressing his hand hard against it, Charlie had managed to stop most of the bleeding, yet the teen still wouldn't wake up.

And he (Charlie) wasn't in the best shape either. Objects were swimming in front of his eyes. He knew that his nose was broken, and he also had been stabbed in the side. The wound wasn't long, but it was at least two inches deep. Before he could help Joe any more, he knew that he'd have to try to stop the bleeding.

He only noticed that his hands were shaking when he tried to rip off a piece of cloth. It was only by pulling hard that he ended up with a piece large enough to cover the wound.

A hand on his arm made him jump. Looking over, Charlie realized that Joe had touched him. "Hey," he said, leaving the cloth on the floor and moving in front of the teen. "You alright?"

Joe shook his head no, biting his lip as tears came to his eyes. Charlie could've kicked himself for asking such a stupid question. "Stay with me, alright?" Charlie remembered when he had had a head wound like this, and Don had kept him awake by asking him math questions. "What...what's your family like? What do you like to do?"

Joe's eyes opened wider, his breathing became easier. He was concentrating on keeping awake. That was good.

Except that at that moment, they got hauled to their feet again, and the nightmare continued.

**Reviews are nice.**


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